


Little Pieces Bleeding Through

by MaurianasRavenholdt



Series: The Collector [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Dick Grayson - Fandom, Nightwing (Comics), Robin - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Crime, Death, F/M, Gang Rape, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mystery, PTSD, Punishment, Rape, Roma, Sequel, Torture, Trafficking, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-05 01:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt
Summary: Sequel to Kids in the Dark.Nightwing has just completed a grueling undercover mission. But the ramifications are far reaching, and his work only scratched the surface.





	1. Buried Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I was getting some requests on AO3 and beyond for a sequel in the short term, so I thought I’d get started. The outline is drafted, so now I’ll get to work. Updates may be slow, as I’m also writing another fic currently.

Threats were not unfamiliar territory. After all, as Robin and Nightwing, he was threatened with bodily harm and death nearly any time he went outside. He had lived the majority of his life with a target on his back. 

But threats to _Dick Grayson_ were more unusual and unsettling. He sat on the marble floor of the foyer, stunned, reading the typed text over and over. 

“Grayson. 

You cost me money, product, and time. 

Consider this a bill for my trouble - if you step out of daddy’s protective shadow for a second, you’re dead.”

He had sincerely hoped he could put recent events behind him. A near miss at a life of international sex slavery was quite enough for the moment. He hoped for mundanity. 

But then again, when you’re in “the life”, maybe death threats _do_ pass for mundane. 

There was no question about the origin of the letter. He had encountered Alistair Bendel-White’s transactional view of life and death before. Which lead to the stark conclusion - Dick Grayson had publicly humiliated Intergang. He had been stupid to think a volley like _that_ would go unanswered. 

He pulled himself to his feet and headed to the old grandfather clock in the study, letter firmly clutched in his hand. Whether he was ready or not, he couldn’t be Dick Grayson for a while. He’d have to be Nightwing. He opened the secret passage and descended the stairs to the Batcave, and to the shadowed figure standing before the illuminated computer bank - Batman. 

He dropped the letter on the desk beside Bruce. “Hope you didn’t need my undercover services for this next one. Seems I may have touched a nerve.” 

Batman glanced at the letter briefly before returning his attention to the screen, “Ideas on whose?”

Dick chuckled, “A few. But it can wait. What’ve you got?” 

“GCPD and State Police just discovered an active mass grave northeast of Pettsburg. Possibly hundreds of bodies in varying states of decay. Gordon looped me in, and I want your help.” Gruesome photos of the scene swept up onto the screen as Batman spoke. 

“Ugh.” Dick sighed. “Yeah. Sure thing. Give me 5 minutes.” 

The pair were geared up and in the Batmobile in under three. 

“So how did they find this place, anyway? It’s a long way out.” Nightwing hated quiet car rides, and Batman was never a great conversationalist, so he improvised, hoping to keep his attention with topical questions. 

“Group of local boys went looking for ‘treasure’,” he answered, “Found recently turned soil by an abandoned manufacturing plant. Decided to start digging.”

“Oof. How are _they_ doing?” 

“They’ll be fine,” Batman replied, “though I imagine they won’t be taking any more unscheduled expeditions anytime soon.”

Before long, the Batmobile roared up to the scene. It was rare, anymore, that Batman was spotted working with police in the open. Too often a dirty cop with a chip on his shoulder would cause problems and distract from the task at hand. But this was too big, too involved to wait the days it would take for the scene to clear. And when it came to bodies, evidence was rotting away by the second, so there wasn’t time to spare. 

Commissioner Gordon intercepted Batman as they approached, “Thank God, you’re here. This is a disaster. I’ve got rookies puking in buckets, state police breathing down my neck and claiming jurisdiction, and the slowest ME and forensics team ever.” 

Batman nodded to the Commissioner wordlessly and headed directly for the growing excavation, leaving Nightwing to get whatever information he could from the police. 

“It’s good to see you again, son. Thought you got your own city now, though.” Jim puffed on a cigarette, squinting as the wind blew smoke back into his eyes. 

“Just back in town for a visit , sir.” Nightwing smiled wryly, “Though it looks like my timing could use some work. You feel like talking me through what you have so far?” 

Jim nodded and dropped the spent cigarette butt, crushing it under his heel. “A goddamned nightmare is what I have. We’ve pulled and cataloged only 4 from the site. There are dozens more. It’s slow going. Every one we’ve come across so far looks like a head-shot kill, though we can’t confirm that till the autopsies. We’ve had to bring in precincts from all over the state to start working on it.” He was already pulling out and lighting another cigarette by the time he finished talking. He always smoked more when he was upset. 

“Are those 4 still on site?” Nightwing asked, “I’d like to take a look if I could.”

Jim walked nearby to a growing line of full body bags awaiting transfer.  
“Take your time. Anything you need. We’re not cracking something like this on our own, anyway.” 

Nightwing crouched down beside the first bag, taking a deep breath before tugging on the zipper. He exhaled sharply in spite of himself when he saw the face inside. Purpling, bloated, but unmistakeable. 

The memory bubbled up unbidden: _They had been lined up like cattle for slaughter. One by one they were pulled into the next room at gunpoint. A boy with vacant eyes and deep cuts around his mouth went first. And then the auction began in earnest. _

Nightwing shook his head, bringing his attention back to the present moment and closing the bag. The next two were mercifully unfamiliar - an older man and a young woman. The final body, however, took him by surprise again. A middle aged man in an expensive looking tuxedo - his face was so near in Nightwing’s mind, but it still took a moment to fully recall, _Thornton had pulled Dick up onto the stairs, showing off what he thought was a great investment. The party-goers had more sense; no one in their right mind would take something already claimed by Bruce Wayne. In the corner, a man and woman exchanged furtive looks and shook their heads, exiting the festivities without being noticed. _

Not just any man. _This_ man, now dead and rotting, pulled from a mass grave. Abruptly, Nightwing zipped the bag and stood, catching Batman’s attention before returning to the car. He touched Jim’s shoulder along the way and leaned in, “Can you send me an ID on the 4th one as soon as you get it, please?”

“Of course, son. Hopefully it won’t take too long.” 

Nightwing sat down in the passengers seat, waiting only a beat before Batman joined him and slid the doors shut. “Got something?” 

“Yeah.” Nightwing sighed heavily, “Looks like my last case isn’t done with us yet. Two of the four they’ve pulled from the site, I recognized from Alistair’s villa auction. One was a victim. One was a buyer.” 

In reply, Batman grunted, then set off for home. 

Back at the Batcave, Alfred was waiting for them, and pulled Nightwing to the side as Batman wordlessly opened up Nightwing’s report from the last few weeks, reviewing the pertinent information. Intently focused. 

“There is a young man wishing to speak with you, sir,” Alfred began. “He was quite insistent on waiting for you, and was rather agitated, so I brought him some refreshments in the parlor. A Master Marcus Fuller.” 

Before Nightwing could reply, Batman growled, but did not look up from his work, “Tell him to go home, Alfred. Whatever excuse it takes. Dick Grayson is in danger, this is no time to entertain visitors.” 

Nightwing pulled off his mask and sighed heavily. Bruce was always went a little overkill on ‘protection’ when it came to his Robins. “Actually, it might be a _good_ idea to talk to him, Bruce. It couldn’t hurt to keep one foot on the inside of this, especially with what we saw tonight. He probably just wants an explanation on why his friend Robbie lied. He’s harmless.” 

“Fine,” Batman relented, “But keep your focus, Dick. This doesn’t feel right.”


	2. Particulars

Dick was grateful to catch a quick shower and change into his civvies for a little while. The smell of dead bodies - like rotting fish in China Town in the summer - always seemed to cling in his uniform when he worked a case like this. But the manor smelled like old mahogany and high-end lemon oil, and it helped to drown the memory of the stench, somewhat. 

Mark looked smaller than he remembered sitting in the large leather chair in the parlor. He was bouncing his leg nervously, chewing on his fingernails. The plate of tea sandwiches Alfred brought for him remained untouched. His eyes remained fixed out the leaded glass window as Dick approached, “Hey. You ok?” 

“Oh. Em. Gee!” Mark hopped up and pulled Dick into a trembling hug. “You bougie asshole. I...uh. I saw the news. I didn’t know...you know. I didn’t know what Thornton was doing. But what were you even doing there?” He was shaking uncontrollably now, a frenzied laugh escaping his throat. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all ok. Because with Mr. F in jail, and Thornton missing, I’m up for a promotion. A real one, you know. Not the ones Thornton promised me upstairs every week. All I have to do is finish one thing for them...” 

He pulled out a gun from his waistband, desperately trying to steady it as he pointed it at Dick’s chest. “I’m so sorry. You were so nice to me. You were the first person in my life that actually _cared_ about what happened to me. But they took away my money, the booze, my Xannies. I can’t even think anymore. I have to do this. Oh God, I’m so sorry.” 

Dick held his hands low, palms out. He kept his voice just above a hush, “Mark. I can help you. I want to help you. You don’t have to do what they say. You are a good person and you don’t want to kill me.” Slowly, inching forward, Dick was close enough to cup Mark’s hands in his own. “Now, give me the gun. We can keep you safe. I promise.”

Sobbing, Mark let go of the weapon and collapsed to the floor. Dick emptied the gun, then knelt beside him and pulled him into a hug. “There you go. It’s ok. It’ll be ok.” 

——

Alfred helped Dick settle Mark down and bring him to one of the guest bedrooms, where he fell asleep almost immediately, his breath still hitching in sobs. They had called Dr. Thompkins to look in on him once he woke up. DTs were nothing to mess with. 

Mercifully, Bruce has stayed in the Batcave and not entangled himself in the debacle. When Dick returned downstairs, Batman was right at the computer, where he left him. “How was your friend?” 

Dick chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh, you know.... fine. Though you get to say ‘I told you so’. Poor guy was sent to shoot me. His heart wasn’t in it, though.” Dick rapidly switched topics, “Find anything interesting in my report?”

Batman eyed Dick with suspicion, wanting to say more. “Bendel-White has been in the wind since your...incident, and just yesterday HSC Bank pulled its holdings from domestic stocks, citing a better return on investment from international sources. Most of HSC’s properties in the US are in the process of liquidation, now. However Oracle found one in Gotham still active. A condominium in Uptown, near Endsbury Park”

Dick was already changing back into his suit, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s pay him a visit, shall we?” 

——-

Dick almost felt bad for Alistair. He was in silk pajamas, searching out a late night snack, when they stepped out of the shadows and scared him badly enough that he dropped his milk, the glass shattering into jagged pieces across the travertine floor. He looked so bewildered and fragile - not at all the figure of power he had encountered before. Batman began interrogations the old fashioned way as Nightwing set to work pulling files from the laptop nearby. 

“What do you know about this?” Batman demanded, showing Alistair one of the  
more unsettling pictures from the mass grave. 

“I have no intention of telling you anything.” Alistair adjusted his glasses and huffed. “The risk analysis is not in your favor. You’ll just assault me, send me to prison? My betters are capable of far worse.” 

Batman slammed Alistair’s back against the refrigerator. “‘Your betters?’ Names!” 

Laughing, Alistair replied, “This ‘aggression theater’ doesn’t frighten me. Your presence is a minor irritation in a series of irritations set off by that Wayne boy. Don’t pretend he isn’t why you’re really here. You should be thanking me, I did him a favor. Damaged or unsaleable product is usually ‘repurposed’ domestically - a fate far worse than the international trade, I assure you. But I’ve said too much already. I’ll say nothing more.”

Batman shot a glance over his shoulder at Nightwing, who nodded to say he had finished the data transfer. A single, final blow to Alistair’s solar plexus and the pair vanished as silently as they had arrived, leaving the man gasping on the floor. 

——-

It was nearly daylight when they returned to the Batcave. “I’m going to go check in with Leslie, see how Mark is doing,” Nightwing began as he stripped his suit off, “then I’m getting some sleep. You?”

“Later.” Was the only reply, as Batman sat down and started uploading the data from Alistair’s computer to his own. 

Upstairs, Dick found Leslie in the kitchen, sighing and drinking coffee. “How is he?”

“He’ll be ok,” Leslie replied, “He’s agreed to a rehab program out of state - I got him a Wayne Sponsorship for it. His DTs were fairly advanced, but I got his electrolyte balance back into check. He also told me he hasn’t been able to afford his anti-retrovirals for months, so we restarted that. His viral load was off the charts, and his T cells were low. If he can keep up with his treatment plan, things will get better for him.”

Suddenly, Dick felt like there was a massive weight on his chest, pressing the air out of his lungs, “He’s... HIV positive?”

Leslie took another sip, “More than that, I’m afraid. It’s progressed to AIDS at this point.” She finally registered Dicks wide eyes and erratic breathing, “Why, is that relevant to you?” 

_”I’m up for a promotion. A real one, you know. Not the ones Thornton promised me upstairs every week,” Mark had said._

Dick swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, “Yeah. It might be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get so encouraged when I get inboxed with comments and kudos - keep ‘em coming!


	3. Dark and Silent

“Start from the beginning and take it slow,” Leslie reached across the counter and grabbed Dick’s hand, holding tight, reassuring. “Were you and Mark intimate?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Dick sighed. “While I was undercover, I was put in a situation where I had to make a choice and...” He was having trouble putting the the experience into words, “Ultimately, one of Mark’s _regular clients_ and I...” He avoided Leslie’s concerned eyes, ashamed at how emotional this was making him. It was a job. It was for the mission. It was _his_ choice. Wasn’t it? 

Leslie nodded, understanding his meaning, mercifully helping him avoid any more awkward explanations. “How long ago?” 

It seemed like yesterday. _ Thornton pulled away, grabbing the hem of the stark white sheets, wiping away bright blood. Whose blood? The brutality of it all made the obvious answer foggy. The unused condoms, discarded on the floor. A warning, perhaps, from Mark? _

“A week and a half. I should have talked to you sooner, I’m sorry...”

“Absolutely not. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Leslie shook her head and sighed. “However, you are in a difficult window of time right now. It’s too late to give you any prophylaxis and have it be useful. But it’s too soon for any testing to be useful either. In another week, maybe two, we can run tests. But it may be up to a month before we’re sure.”

Dick nodded, feeling numb, “I understand. I’d appreciate it if... I’m not sure Bruce needs to know this. Not yet.” 

“Not ever, if you don’t want.” Leslie squeezed his hand, “Even if your tests are positive, it’s not a death sentence anymore. The only thing that would have to change is you’d take medicine every day. That’s it. We can manage this. Just take it a step at a time.” 

Dick took a deep, steadying breath. Then another. Leslie gave a final squeeze and let go, “I have to be at the clinic. If you need _anything_, call me.” 

Leslie grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair and left. Dick’s thoughts overwhelmed him - he was unused to having this little control over his memories. It made him feel like a child again. He hated it. 

Any desire for sleep had vanished. Instead, he elected for a long, hot shower. 

_Careless_, he chastised himself, standing under the scalding stream. 

Why wouldn’t this case just leave him alone? The thought have having to carry any of it the rest of his life seemed unbearable. Now, more than ever, he thought he could feel fingernails digging into his hips, marking his skin. Thornton was dead, and yet Dick could smell him as if he were still behind him, grunting and grappling at his throat. 

He felt disgusting. Filthy. Fundamentally damaged. 

Abruptly, Dick shut off the water. Thinking like that was self indulgent and useless. He still had _the job_. If he could sink himself into that, maybe nothing else would matter anymore. 

Wrapped in a towel, still dripping, he sat on the edge of his bed. He should sleep. He needed it. His exhaustion was clouding his mind - he couldn’t stay in control of his thoughts if he was fighting fatigue, too. He forced himself to lay down; sleep washing over him, to his dismay, though real _rest_ eluded him. His dreams were plagued by the persistent sensation of being crushed under the weight of some unseen menace. 

He was surprised when he woke up to a darkened room, the last vestiges of sunlight dancing through the stained glass. He had lost the entire day in bed, and still felt exhausted. Groaning and rolling over, he caught sight of a small piece of paper, origami folded into a heart, resting on his bedside table. 

_Robbie,_

_Didn’t want to wake you. I had to leave before your doctor came back. I’m just not ready for rehab. I’ll figure it out. I’m just too tired. Thanks for everything. _

_XOXO  
Mark_

It might as well have been a suicide note. 

Mark had to know Intergang wouldn’t let him leave with his ‘job’ incomplete. 

Dick tried to focus, to decide next steps. He should track Mark down, make him see reason...

_Assuming it wasn’t too late. Intergang was terrifying in its efficiency, after all. _

...but a crisp knock at the door broke his concentration. Alfred. 

“I hope you had a restful day. I am told Commissioner Gordon has made contact with the information you required. Your presence is requested _downstairs_ at your earliest convenience.” 

Dick smiled wanly at Alfred, “Thanks. Be there in a minute.” 

He sat up and the room swam briefly. Aching muscles protested as he stood. 

_Just my luck; a cold on top of everything else. _

He dressed quickly and padded through down to the Batcave, the chilly stone floor biting at his bare toes. Stopped just behind Batman, who was still sitting near the computer. 

“Anything good?” 

“ID came through on your tuxedo from the burial site,” Batman replied, “Darius Bordeaux, philanthropist. One of the top individual donors to the Martha Wayne Foundation for Missing and Exploited Children.” 

Dick scoffed. “Irony much? And no wonder seeing me scared the hell out of him. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time.” 

“Gordon is notifying next of kin, now.” 

Dick smiled, satisfied with the break in the case, “maybe Bruce Wayne should express his condolences, personally? Might provide a distraction so Nightwing can poke around?” 

“You read my mind.”


	4. Victims, All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely gruesome imagery here. It’s... pretty bad. It’s likely going to get worse, I’m way down the rabbit hole now.

Bruce stood before the hyper-modern front door to the home of the late Darius Bordeaux, waiting a beat before knocking, “Engaging now.” 

The low growl was transmitted to Nightwing, who hid in the shadows behind the house, “Show time”, he replied. He listened for the knock, the pleasantries, then ducked through the open basement door and into the dark. 

The first blush was underwhelming. The cellar was smaller than he had expected, really not much more than a utility room. There were a few plastic filing boxes in the corner, some paint cans stacked to the side. Stunningly unremarkable. Nightwing clicked his small flashlight and swept the room methodically. Itinerant cobwebs along the ceiling. Foiled insulation shoved between studs in the walls. A cement floor, covered in dust. 

_Wait. Not **completely** covered._

Near one section of wall, the floor had been brushed clean, and the insulated padding was more wrinkled and worn than elsewhere in the room. Nightwing peeled it back, only mildly surprised to find a heavy metal door hiding behind it. 

“Nope. That’s not creepy or suspicious at all.” He muttered to himself. 

He crouched down and popped the lock, then pushed open the door, wincing as it squeaked and groaned, echoing against the stone of the narrow hallway behind it. 

_Real subtle, Grayson_

He directed the beam of the flashlight to the back the short hall, where it opened up in to a large, pitch black, cement room. 

Slowly, keeping each footfall silent, he stepped over the threshold, and back to what could only be appropriately described as a dungeon. 

Manacles hung from the walls, a table equipped with restraints sat in the center, a dark pool of dried blood stained the corner.  
There were two more doors along the far wall, each with locks and sliding windows that reminded Nightwing of Arkham Asylum more than a little. 

He pulled the slide over barred windows on the first door to the side. The room behind it was empty save for a filthy cot and bare toilet. The small door screeched as Nightwing moved it back into place. 

“Please, please no...” a weak begging echoed in the room, muted behind the second door, “Don’t send me to Sivana, I promise I’ll be good...”

Nightwing’s breath quickened, his heart beating out of his chest. 

_Someone’s alive down here_

He focused on keeping his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here to help. You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of there.” 

He tugged at the cell door, but it’s heavy lock wouldn’t budge. He scanned the room quickly. 

_Damn. No key. Have to force it_

He tapped his comm and whispered, “Gonna make some noise, B. Need a distraction up there.” 

Nightwing planted two small charges on the lock and waited. 

“Absolutely!” Bruce’s over-the-top ‘entertaining billionaire’ voice came clearly through Nightwing’s ear piece as he weaved a response into his conversation. “Now would be perfect!” 

Nightwing hit the detonator, and a soft ‘bang’, followed by the clattering of metal, signaled success. He wrenched the door open. 

Inside, a young man, pleading incoherently, was bound to a cot soaked in blood and excrement. His eyes were covered tightly with a filthy rag, and his skin was covered in open sores. 

“It’s ok, I’m going to help you.” Nightwing immediately began working at the restraints. 

“No. No, Sivana. Please no.”

Skin had grown into the metallic cuffs, making opening them impossible. Nightwing cut the links instead, and carefully scooped his arms under the skeletal man, tugging on the foul linens under his torso. 

_Not under. Imbedded _

The man gasped and shook in Nightwing’s arms as shock rapidly set in. Almost as quickly as the convulsions began, they stopped. He was so neglected and fragile, the stress of simply being moved had killed him. 

Fighting the urge to retch, Nightwing gently knelt down and put the man’s body on the floor. He scooted back to the far wall, the horror overwhelming him. 

Closing his eyes tightly, he pulled himself up by the broken cell door, his gloved hands covered in blood and filth, slipping against the metal. Above Nightwing’s rapid breathing, Bruce’s voice cut in over the comm, signaling that time was up, “Yes, thank you for your hospitality, and my sincere condolences. Please let me know if you need anything. Take care.” 

He spared a glance back at the mutilated body on the floor before pulling himself out of the cell. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere else. 

_This has to stop._

Shaking, Nightwing slipped into the darkness of the back garden again, forcing himself to focus on making it to the rendezvous point. Deep in the cover of the woods behind the house, he fell to his knees, sobbing. 

_I have to make this stop_


	5. Divide and Conquer

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it, Bruce.” Back at the Batcave, Dick was stripping off his suit piece by piece, dropping gauntlets and armor housings into a biohazard bag Alfred was holding. They had protocols for a deep clean after something like this, they just rarely needed them. “He must’ve been down there for days, weeks without being touched. Reminded me of stories about _Porajmos_ my grandfather used to tell us. I shouldn’t have just _moved_ him like that...” he broke off the thought, regret and grief ebbing up over the horror. 

Bruce placed a heavy hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You did what anyone else in that situation would have done. Was he able to speak? Did he say anything we can use?”

“He was absolutely terrified about something, _Sivana_,” Dick replied, “begged not to be sent there. Does that mean anything to you?” 

“Maybe.” Bruce tapped a comm button on the computer, “Oracle, cross check the location ‘Sivana’ with our current case data, and any information from Nightwing’s previous case.”

“On it.” Oracle replied. “No locations that match. There is a person, though. Dr. Thaddeus Sivana, nanotechnologist associated with Intergang. He’s their go-to guy for integrating alien tech into Earth based computers.” 

Dick furrowed his brow, “Nanotech? Why would a guy like Sivana be involved in human trafficking. Seems a bit too biological for someone like him.” 

Bruce shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know - but if the vic was that scared, its worth following. Oracle, are there any locations associated with both Intergang _and_ Sivana?”

“Two,” she answered. “Both warehouses. One near the south docks, one not far from the Pettsburg grave site to the north. Latest satellite IR shows both as deserted.”

“Tomorrow night we’ll investigate in person. In the mean time, Oracle, call in an anonymous tip to the GCPD about Bordeaux. Hopefully Gordon’s men can get us more information from the body.” Bruce turned and addressed Dick, “You, go get some rest. You look like you could use it.” 

“Gee, thanks.” He replied dryly before heading back to the manor. 

_Shower first._

Childishly, he almost hoped the water might wash away the images of the evening, too. Otherwise, sleep would be hard to come by. 

It seemed to him he was spending more and more time under a scalding stream, scrubbing at invisible filth. 

_Its fine. I’m fine. Right?_

He had little choice but to be _fine_. He could feel this case approaching its breaking point - a deep, instinctual tension in his chest. 

He stepped from the shower and eyed his reflection warily - his pallor unfamiliar. Truth be told, he felt like garbage. 

_Pushing too hard. Barbara would have me tucked up on the couch with soup by now._

He missed her - felt unanchored without her banter in his ear. But there was too much damage, there. Too much he didn’t want to revisit in explanation. 

He’d have to settle for sleep instead of Barbara’s ministrations. He flopped down on his belly and bunched the pillows up under his head. Beyond exhausted, he hoped he would fall asleep immediately - but memories, like nightmares kept him awake. Vivid and unrelenting. 

_The pain had been at the edge of bearable, the humiliation cut to the bone, as Thornton asserted his ownership, if only in the moment. And it was only once - it was unimaginable that the skeletal man in the basement had endured the same and worse, over and over again, only to die during rescue._

_I shouldn’t have moved him. I shouldn’t have left him.  
I should have been faster. _

_Maybe Barbara’s instincts were right. I can’t be trusted. _

_This is my fault. _

——-

Dick chased sleep all morning. Dozing and flitting between dreams, only to be startled awake by a nightmare. Eventually, he decided to just give up. The hope of rest was doing more harm than good, anyway. What he needed now was distraction. 

He dressed and went to the ‘cave, surprised to find that Bruce had finally taken some of his own advice and ‘clocked-out’, too. It was always surreal to be down here when it was deserted. 

He sat down and pulled up any information they had about the two locations they were hitting tonight. 

_No shame in being **extra** prepared, right?_

The southern warehouse was smaller. Records showed it used to house cars waiting to be shipped to overseas buyers, but crime in the area had gotten too bad, and the operation was forced to relocate. Now it was intermittently used as an ad hoc shooting gallery, when the police were looking the other way. Which was most of the time. 

The northern site was larger; two sprawling buildings and a parking garage surrounded by woods. Back when publishers flocked to Gotham, it was used for book distribution. Recent photos showed dusty covers littering the floor, snapped conveyor belts long neglected. 

_If I were a villain in the market for a secret hideout, I know which place I’d pick_. 

He needed more information. If only to kill time and satisfy curiosity. He pulled up the comm link for Oracle, “You awake?” 

“Reading you, Nightwing.” Her response was sharp. Pointedly professional. 

“Do you have any more information on Sivana, yet? I’m trying to pull everything together ahead of time.” 

“If I did, I would have told _Batman_ immediately.” Her voice was tart and angry. 

“Don’t do that. Please. I know things aren’t great, right now, but we have to be able to work together.” Dick sighed. “I’m sorry, O. I really am. I miss you.”

He heard a shuddering sigh over the linkup as Barbara steadied herself enough to reply, “I’m sorry, too. I was scared and angry, and I latched on to something I _knew_ would push you away. I just... don’t want to lose you. And what you’re involved in right now? It’s terrifying. Do you realize how _easily_ that could have been _you_ in Bordeaux’s basement?”

The thought had not occurred to him, honestly. But she would interpret that as recklessness, so he withheld, “I know. But that’s the job. I think we might be the only people who can really put a stop to this. And I need you on my side, whatever that looks like, right now.”

“You’re right. And I missed you, too.” Her tone switched from contrite to mischievous, “You know, you have quite a while before you’re heading out, and I’m up for a visitor...” 

Dick considered the loaded invitation for a moment, before feeling a flood of dread. 

_Leslie gripped his hand tightly, her compassion shining through her eyes as it always did, “You are in a difficult window of time right now. It’s too late to give you any prophylaxis and have it be useful. But it’s too soon for any HIV testing to be useful either. In another week, maybe two, we can run tests. But it may be up to a month before we’re sure.”_

He had nearly forgotten his conversation with Leslie, and he felt ashamed, as if even his thoughts had put Barbara in harms way. 

He feigned nonchalance.“Rain check, ok? I have a good feeling about tonight - this case is as good as wrapped. Maybe once things settle down I can come over and...celebrate?” 

“It’s a date, former-boy wonder.”

——-

As the sun set over Gotham, Nightwing slid the ‘heads-up’ visor of his helmet down and took off on his motorcycle. He had been assigned the Northern location; Batman would handle to south docks. They planned to investigate both simultaneously, in order to avoid cross-talk between the sites. 

“Keep comms _open_,” Batman ordered brusquely, “We’re heading in blind. Focus on recon.”

“Got it.” Nightwing replied. This felt _good_. Almost _normal_. 

The trip was short - it wasn’t far from the ‘cave to Pettsburg, and the suburbs readily gave way to industrial parks father out the state highway. Nightwing cut his engine several yards away, on wooded access road, and pulled his motorcycle into the brush. 

Quietly, he took position on the edge of the forest, assessing the area with binoculars. “In position.” He whispered. 

It was several minutes before Batman confirmed the same, and Nightwing was free to move forward, into the warehouse. The interior was much the same as the photographs he poured over earlier. Dust covered the floor, and large, derelict sorting machines menaced in the shadows. 

“First blush, this place is a dead end. Dust is thick on everything, nothing seems disturbed...wait...” Nightwing heard a engine kick over outside, near the parking garage. He clicked off his flashlight and peered through a nearby loading bay, taking note of 4 large livestock trucks, now idling outside. “Jackpot. Looks like they’re moving people out here. A _lot_ of people. I’m going to get a closer look.” 

He stalked closer and crouched down behind a disused transformer only a few paces away from the trucks, swarming with guards shoving terrified people inside. 

“They’re moving _soon_. Don’t think I can wait for backup.” He whispered. 

“Stay put, Nightwing. Batman is en route.” Oracle was terse. Worried. 

The first truck was fully loaded and started to pull out. 

_I can’t let this happen. Not again. _

Deftly, he threw a shuriken at the semi’s front tire, and it exploded with a ‘bang’. Guards scrambled, and he deployed a smoke bomb, using the cover to grab a handful, taking out several armed men without them firing a shot. 

Panicking, the other drivers started to pull away, sending prisoners running in all directions. The chaos was exactly what Nightwing needed. Another group of thugs was incapacitated before the smoke cleared. 

“What’s the ETA? Might have this wrapped before he even gets here.” He jumped onto the closest moving truck, grabbing the driver through the window and slamming his face against the steering column. The vehicle slowed to a halt. 

Behind his back, three shots rang out. He rolled away and shifted focus, just in time to see three bound bodies drop the the dirt. 

“Move a muscle and I kill the rest.” A guard bellowed at Nightwing, pointing his weapon at the huddled mass of prisoners in the back of the disabled truck. “It’s 65 to a trailer. You want all that blood on your hands, hero?”

Nightwing froze and the armed man chuckled, “That’s what I thought. Grab him!” 

Two more guards moved in, and one slammed the grip of his gun against Nightwing’s head. He fell to his knees, disoriented. 

Crackling over the comm, he heard Oracle’s voice just before a second blow landed, “Batman’s ETA is 8 minutes. You reading me, Nightwing? Nightwing?!”


	6. Devoured

Moonlight slipped through the louvered walls of the cattle car as it rumbled down a rocky stretch of untended road, falling on Nightwing’s face as he stirred. His wrists and elbows were chained together behind his back and linked to his ankles; a position that forced him to kneel on the floor of the crowded trailer, jostling against the other people huddled together. His gauntlets, gloves, and boots were gone, though, as he blinked and surveyed the terrified prisoners surrounding him, he was distantly grateful to feel his mask securely on his face. The overwhelming smell of burning diesel only intensified his pounding headache as the truck trundled along. 

It seemed like hours before the caravan jerked to a halt. Through the slots in the trailer, Nightwing could make out a sprawling stone structure. The wrought iron gate read _Rosewood_ \- an asylum abandoned decades ago, one state over from the more infamous Arkham. 

The back gate of the livestock car dropped and the people around him gasped and shrieked. Three men stood at the entrance with cattle prods. The largest spoke, “Listen carefully, and no one will be hurt. You will step down _one_ at a time and organize yourselves into lines. Men and boys 16 and over behind my friend to my left, women and girls 16 and over behind and to the right. All children under 16 behind me. Follow the rules and we can get your hands free. When someone asks if you understand, you will say yes, sir. Is that clear?” 

A terrified chorus resounded, “Yes, sir.” 

One by one, tentatively, at first, then with building panic, each person exited the trailer and into their lines. Most of the children were crying. A mother tried to reach for her daughter and was shocked for her trouble. Finally, Nightwing was alone, still bound and kneeling on the slatted floor of the trailer. 

“Just my luck, our guest of honor is on my truck.” The leader scoffed as he approached. “I’m going to get you to your feet. You are going to walk with me and not cause trouble. Is that clear?” 

Nightwing rolled his eyes and remained silent. He wasn’t going to play this game. A sharp, bright pain seared in his neck as the man jammed the electrodes of the cattle prod into his skin. “The _correct_ answer is ‘Yes, sir.’ I made that abundantly clear. There are consequences for disobedience. Do you understand?” 

Gasping, regaining his composure, Nightwing spat, “Go to hell.” 

The man sighed. Then turned and shouted, “Mick, bring me two from my line, please.” 

Two children, a boy and a girl, were shoved back into the truck. Wordlessly, the man unholstered his gun and shot the boy in the head. He crumpled to the floor by Nightwing’s knees. The girl screamed and tried to run, but was held in place by her arm. 

“See? Consequences. Now. You will come with me and not be trouble, _understood_?”

Nightwing hesitated, awash with horror, as the man lifted his gun again and took aim at the girl. “Yes, sir.” He answered hurriedly. 

“Good boy,” the gunman chuckled, crouching down to unlock the leg irons. “We’re not unreasonable here. But all actions have consequences. Remember that before you get any more bright ideas. Now, on your feet!”

Nightwing was hauled up by the grip under his arm, his shoulder twisting in the restraint. He shuffled along behind the three lines of horror-struck prisoners, and into the large hospital ruins. Inside, the structure was surprisingly clean and maintained. Bright fluorescent lights hummed in the ceiling, and several ‘inmates’ wandered around aimlessly, some visibly injured and mutilated. The juxtaposition of the derelict exterior and functioning interior was unsettling. 

“Women’s dorms to the right, Men’s to the left. Children can head straight back to the reception office, Doctor S is waiting for you.” The man in charge hollered out the orders. “And you,” He turned to Nightwing, “get a private suite until Doc can decide what to do with you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Nightwing snarled from behind clenched teeth. 

The man motioned for the girl from the truck to follow as Nightwing was tugged along to an aging, manual elevator and taken down several flights. Down a dark, twisting hallway. Into the boiler room. 

Pushing Nightwing’s back against some pipes, he abruptly ordered, “On your knees.” 

Nightwing lowered himself slowly, the reason for the girl’s presence becoming more obvious. She was the man’s insurance policy against any attempts to escape. 

Shackles were looped around the heavy iron pipes and clicked back into place against Nightwing’s ankles. 

“Get comfortable. Doc takes a while with selections from new shipments. Might not be down here for hours. Understood?” 

This was getting humiliating. “Yes, sir.” Nightwing replied, words dripping with disdain. 

Without warning, a shot echoed in the cramped room, and the girl collapsed to the cement under her feet. “Watch your fucking tone next time, hero.” The man stepped out and locked the door behind him, leaving the girls corpse on the floor. 

As the man’s footsteps receded down the hallway, Nightwing gasped and shuddered, fighting back terror. He closed his eyes tightly. Batman had trained him for this. 

But his mind failed to access the lesson. Instead, he remembered sitting up late at night, knees drawn up to his chest, listening to his grandfather around a fire outside of his family’s small trailer. 

_”Do you have a mom, too, Bapo?” _

_It was one of those innocent and random questions all children ask when they’re avoiding bedtime. He didn’t expect his grandfathers eyes to darken and focus on the flame before him. _

_“I don’t think your Tati wants me to tell you that story, chavo.”_

_“You can tell me. I bet she was nice, just like you.” Even then, Dick’s sincerity and bright smile could move mountains. _

_The old man sighed. “My Daj was one of the kindest women I have ever met. She would sing to me at night. Sometimes I still hear her voice. I was a boy once, like you. About your age, too. In the middle of the night, very bad men came and took us away from our home. They told us a place called Auschwitz was going to be our new home. I wanted to stay with her, but they wouldn’t let me. They gave me candies and took her away from me. I never saw her again. After we were rescued from that awful place, and as I grew older, I learned she saved the lives of many women and children, going without food and clean water to make sure others could stay well. She was a hero.” _

_Dick’s eyes filled with tears and he hugged his grandfather tightly. “I hope I can be a hero like her, someday.” _

_“Little one,” the old man sighed, “I hope you never have to.” _

_Years later, after Dick’s world shattered, he was on a school trip to a Holocaust Memorial, and the reality of what his grandfather had lived finally crystallized. He ran his fingers along the names of those that perished, engraved forever in stone, but never found his great grandmother’s. The Roma had been denied remembrance, too._

He tried to wrap himself in the memory as his muscles cramped and ached in the unnatural position he was bound in. Imagined that he could call on his ancestors to lend him the strength they had found in their darkness, because he was certain the worst was yet to come. 

He met the dead gaze of the small girl in front of him, laying on her side in a pool of rapidly coagulating blood. 

“I am so sorry” his trembling voice whispered. 

_This has to stop. Why can’t I make it stop?_


	7. Control

It had started to rain by the time Batman made it to the northern warehouse. Tracks and evidence were already washing away, and he cursed himself for delaying. 

There was too much to investigate at the other site. Another mass grave, hidden in the deepest part of the building. Different in nearly every way from the one in Pettsburg. The basement floor had been meticulously lined with bodies, each one with a serial number branded deep into putrefying flesh. Some of the dead were missing limbs, organs, large swaths of skin, all removed with surgical precision. Victims, he concluded, of organ harvest or experimentation. 

Batman had assumed Oracle was overreacting when she told him to head north immediately. She had lost her cool, precise edge since Nightwing’s last assignment. The recent complications of that relationship only made her more unreliable in the field. 

But here, now, faced with nothing but a handful of bodies, a disabled tractor-trailer, and a pile of Nightwing’s discarded gear, he saw the error was his own. 

If Nightwing’s disappearance and the Southside bodies were both connected...

The unavoidable conclusion was horrifying. 

“Anything?” Oracle’s voice was shrill, sub-hysterical. 

“Not yet.” Batman examined the bodies on the ground, three young men, hands bound with plastic ties, each with a bullet to the head. Executed. 

_Nightwing wouldn’t have stood idly by while this happened. Were they used as a distraction? Coercion?_

Nightwing’s boots and gauntlets were thrown to the side, carelessly, weapons and gadgets dumped unceremoniously to the pavement. Batman sifted through, unsurprised to find Nightwing’s comm and GPS were among the discards. 

The livestock wagon also provided very few clues. The odometer has not been reset in thousands of miles, giving no useable search radius. The cab was surprisingly clean, save for a receipt from a restaurant called “Gino’s Chicken”. The front tire had been blown out by a modified shuriken that Batman recognized instantly as Nightwing’s. Admittedly, there was little to go on. 

“Call GCPD, Oracle. There are bodies here, they need to be collected and analyzed. Nightwing is gone.” 

——

The body on the floor served as a macabre clock, marking time as Nightwing waited for whatever was coming next. By the stiffening of her limbs and the cracks forming in the pool of her blood, he guessed it had been about a day. 

Initially the pain in his legs and knees had been irritating. Then all consuming, with searing cramps radiating in his calves and thighs. Now there was nothing - no sensation at all. He almost preferred the pain. 

He had scanned the room dozens of times and found nothing immediately useful. A large, old, unused boiler tank at the center. A mop and bucket, well out of reach and long since dry. Pipes, rusting along the ceiling and walls, leaving deep orange stains on the cement. 

Occasionally he could hear carts rolling down the hallway outside the room. The first few times, he prepared himself - leaned into the flood of adrenaline, did his best to visualize how he could fight back. Now, the noise meant nothing. It was disturbing how quickly the sound of wheels against tile shifted from herald to background noise. 

He had even tried to sleep. Rest would break the monotony and help him conserve strength. But each time his head bobbed down, the muscles in his shoulders screamed, twisted in the restraints behind his back. 

He let his mind wander, entertaining himself with pleasant memories. If he tried hard enough, he thought he could even smell Barbara’s perfume, and the scent of her hair, warm and sweet. 

Voices. The sound of voices echoed in the hallway. That was new - whoever pushed the carts relentlessly never spoke. Small, fast footsteps clicked along with large, plodding ones. Nightwing’s breath quickened. This was it. They were coming. 

The door creaked and groaned, and the man from before ducked under the threshold, followed by a squat, strange-looking bald man in a stark white lab coat. Dr. S, he presumed. 

“What is it you have bothered me with?” The ‘Doctor’ spoke with a tight German accent. “Oh!” He fixed his beady eyes on Nightwing, pulling glasses from his pocket and looping them around his ears. “Oho! Yes, I see! Marvelous, Joseph! You have done well!” He excitedly shook the arms of the man beside him. Joseph raised an eyebrow, but did not return the enthusiasm as the doctor continued, “You will bring it to the lab, right away! I do not want it to lose any more muscle mass... what an opportunity! I must make preparations!” He giggled gleefully and turned out of the room, cackling as he retreated down the hallway. 

Joseph kicked Nightwing in the thigh, sending bolts of pain through the otherwise numb limb. “You heard the man. Let’s get you up. Don’t give me trouble, understand?” 

“Or what? You’ve already killed your leverage.” Nightwing nodded his chin to the girl on the floor. 

Joseph squatted down and grabbed Nightwing’s cheeks, digging in his nails and forcing eye contact, “Do you think you’re the first problem child we’ve had here? Sooner or later, everyone gets with the program. It’s better for you if you choose sooner. But it makes no difference to me, either way.” 

Lashing out however he could, Nightwing spat in the man’s face. The consequence was swift, as Joseph swung his hand, connecting the back with Nightwing’s jaw. Dark spots blotted out his vision for only a moment, then cleared as Joseph unlatched the shackles. “You finished? Now, up.”

The walk to the elevator was excruciating, Joseph half-dragging Nightwing the length of the hallway. “Keep up, hero” he chastised, briefly digging a taser into bare flesh and sending a shock anytime Nightwing faltered or fell. By the time the metal gate shut and the pair ascended, Nightwing was shaking uncontrollably from pain and exhaustion. 

The elevator stopped, and Joseph steadied Nightwing. Before they stepped out, he said “It can get better than this, you know? Help Dr. S with his research, prove you’ve learned your lesson, and there is a world of privileges you can earn. Keep making trouble and we’re going to have to get...creative with your discipline.” 

“Then start brainstorming,” Nightwing chuckled, desperately trying to hide how close to breaking he really was, “because I’m _nothing_ but trouble.”

Joseph smiled broadly, menacingly, and tugged Nightwing out of the elevator, “Everybody breaks, hero. Do you _really_ want to see how bad it can get?”


	8. Reuse and Recycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up on the new tags. Graphic description of sexual assault ahead.

Joseph dragged Nightwing across the disused lobby and into a small, brightly lit, room behind the reception office. An adjustable steel table was moored to the center, and a series of scalpels, scissors, and syringes were nestled on a blue cloth over top of a rolling metal table. In the far corner, a small desk and two chairs looked out of place against the sterility of the room. Joseph pushed Nightwing into a chair and stood behind him, hands on shoulders, keeping him seated. Dr. S and two armed assistants followed shortly. The doctor took his place behind the desk, drumming his fingertips and surveying the hero before him. 

“I am Dr. Sivana, as you may already know.” The bright smile and light voice were unsettling and out of context. “My facility here houses subjects for my groundbreaking nano-regeneration technology. We are essentially a... how do you say? Recycling center, for those too damaged or recalcitrant for buyers. But you will be a significant asset to my research! I try to be fair and forthright with my subjects; you may ask me any questions you may have before we begin.” 

This was bizarre. Even stranger than the monologues some of the more grandiose villains Nightwing had encountered were so fond of. This _almost_ seemed like a completely normal physician consultation. 

_Except for the handcuffs and torture. _

Briefly, Nightwing considered asking legitimate questions, hoping he could sift through the crazy and find real answers, but his patience was short, “You’re insane. And I will _not_ participate in whatever sick, twisted bullshit you’re doing here.” 

Sivana leapt from his seat, “Petulance! My work salvages slaves from all over the world, repurposing them, making them a part of something spectacular. They face death, or a life at the hands of vicious traffickers; instead, I provide them with a legacy! I give them worth!”

He turned his angry glare to Joseph, “You _promised_ me it was ready, that this _behavior_ was corrected! You are a liar and a fool. Correct it, _now_ or you will face the consequences!” 

Sivana stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Smirking at his small victory, Nightwing chuckled, “I told you I was trouble.” 

“You think you’re fucking clever, do you?!” Joseph’s ice cold, ruthless demeanor snapped, and unmitigated rage poured out. He grabbed Nightwing under his arms and marched him to the center of the room, jamming a cloth in his mouth and slamming him down on the table. 

“Hold him, fucking hold him!” He screamed at his comrades, who leaned their weight into the backs of Nightwing’s shoulders, pinning him in place. Joseph knelt down, tugging Nightwing’s ankles out toward the edges of the table securing them to the metal legs, the restraints biting down as he overtightened them. 

Nightwing heard the soft swish of a blade, unsheathed and in unseen hands, carving away his suit, dipping into the flesh below. He heaved his arms, pushing for leverage to move away, to fight back, to no avail. The men at his shoulders just leaned in harder, and he could feel the tearing strain at his joints. 

“You are property!” Joseph bellowed, and Nightwing heard the harsh jangling of a belt unfastening. “Most of the animals that are sent to us already understand that. They know this is their last chance, that they failed at a life of servitude, but you?” He leaned down and whispered against Nightwing’s neck, menacing and infuriated, “I have to teach you who you belong to.”

He heard Joseph spit into his hand, and then the sound of wet skin on skin as he moved the improvised lubricant on his cock. Nightwing growled against the gag, then drew in a muffled, tortured breath. 

Joseph slammed into Nightwing, only beginning to expend some of the rage pent up over the past day. He had tried and failed to break the hero - now he would destroy him. 

Between thrusts, Joseph barked out orders, “Take out the gag. I want to hear him scream. I want him to beg me to stop.” 

Nightwing gasped for air. He couldn’t help but shriek in sobs; it felt like he was being ripped to shreds. 

“You are nothing! You are worthless, mine to control!” Joseph was screaming now, each stroke a declaration of his wrath, until he made one final thrust, emptying himself deep among the blood and lacerations Nightwing had endured. As he stepped back, buckling his belt, he whispered breathlessly, “Do you understand?” 

Horrified, Nightwing heard himself reply; distant and compliant, “Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy.” Joseph was panting. He wiped sweat from his brow on the back of his hand and addressed the other men in the room, “Get him cleaned up and restrained on the table. I’ll tell Dr. Sivana the ‘correction’ was successful, and he’s ready for phase 1.”


	9. Dissection

Batman dropped the receipt on Oracle’s desk. She looked up, incredulously. “And this is...”

“Our best lead.”

“Nightwing is missing, possibly in mortal danger, and you give me a fast food ticket?” She sighed. “I need time. And I can’t make promises. This is not a lot to go on.”

“Whatever you can get me.” Batman turned to leave. 

“What about the dock warehouse? Anything from there?” Oracle was searching, hoping for more than just this thin slip of paper. 

Batman shook his head. “Nothing good.”

Before she could argue, he slipped into the shadows and was gone. 

——-

It felt like being stuck in a dream. Everything seemed so far away, so muted and wrong. Nightwing could see his reflection in the  
steel table as he was moved, his arms limp and useless as he was shifted onto his back and restrained again. 

_No. Not my reflection. That isn’t me. I don’t want that to be me._

There were voices. Casual. Laughing. 

_ Who was talking?_

Whoever it was, it sounded distant, like he was deep underwater, edging closer to drowning. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he’d somehow forgotten which muscles to use. 

Leather straps bit into his wrists and ankles. The cold metal table against his bare skin brought reality into focus, if only a little. 

_Keep it together, Grayson. Dissociate now and you’re as good as dead. Unless you already are, and this is hell. _

Sivana was back with Joseph. 

_When did they come back?_ The deep trench where the memory should have been terrified him. 

“I trust there will be no more _incidents_? I am short of patience.” Nightwing could barely make out Sivana’s words above the rushing, throbbing noise in his ears. 

_ Your heartbeat, dummy. You’re still alive. You still have a job to do. _

_Do it._

Nightwing chuckled, breathy and panicked, “That isn’t all you’re ‘short of’. Can you even _see_ over the table?”

The taser bolt to his thigh was immediate, and he tried to twist away from the bright, radiating pain, but the restraints held fast. Nightwing swore he felt a tooth chip as he clenched his jaw, not wanting to give Joseph the satisfaction of hearing him scream _ever_ again. 

Dr. Sivana glared at Joseph, “This is _corrected_?” He tutted in disappointment, then waved his hand dismissively, “Just keep it quiet, and bring me my recorder, I don’t want to waste any more time.” 

Growling, still furious, Joseph grabbed a handful of gauze and some tape. He jammed the gauze deep into Nightwing’s mouth, tearing lips with his fingernails, before wrapping tape around his mouth for good measure. 

_Your mind is your greatest weapon. Don’t ever forget that_

Bruce had always told him that. Whether it was calculus or survival training, it was his go to mantra. Now it felt cruel, mocking. How could his mind be a weapon when it felt so dull and heavy. When he had lost control of the memories that assailed it. 

_ Thornton had jammed his fingers into My mouth too. Gagging me, working them around in a crude attempt to collect saliva as lubricant. I thought that was the depths of humiliation. _

_I was wrong_

Dr. Sivana clicked ‘record’, “Day one of muscle regeneration protocol. Subject is a young male, approximately 8-10% body fat,” he prodded Nightwing’s arms and side with calipers, the continued, “near peak condition, with variations for muscle loss during transport and confinement.” He clicked off the recorder, “Joseph, hand me the electrocautery pen and tell me which number is next on the registry.”

Joseph complied, bringing a book and an unassuming device to the doctor. Nodding, saying nothing, Sivana adjusted his glasses and leaned in near Nightwing’s forearm, digging deep into his skin with the ‘pen’. 

Blinding pain. Nightwing was actually grateful for the gag because it gave him something to bite down on. He tried to hold his breath as the smell of branding flesh filled the room. 

Again, memories stirred against his will. 

_”Is this so you don’t forget your birthday, Bapo?” Dick ran his small fingers across fading blue numbers inside his grandfathers arm, then pulled away abruptly as the old man flinched. _

_“I would never defile my skin like this, chavo, not on purpose. It is marimē.” The edge to his grandfather’s voice was unlike anything he had heard, and Dick hung his head unsure, but ashamed. _

_“Sorry, Bapo. I didn’t mean...”_

_The old man shook the boy by his shoulders. “No. You are not to be sorry. This was done to me long ago. By men, gadjo, who thought our people were not worthy of life, or love. But those monsters are gone, now. And if we erase even their memory, it will be like they never existed.”  
_

He didn’t understand then. But now, he knew, if he made it through this alive he would give anything to pretend it had never happened. The numbers engraved on his arm made that impossible, now. He would literally carry this until he died. Just like his grandfather did. 

“Perfection!” Dr. Sivana exclaimed before clicking the recorder back on, “Subject number is 4336, experimental start date is twentieth of January, 2018. For the first phase, ten sections of muscle tissue, each roughly 3 cubic centimeters, will be removed to a nutrient broth for downstream processing, and the incisions flooded with the nano-regeneration serum, then sutured shut. Incisions will be reopened and examined for tissue regeneration hourly. Previous attempts have failed, likely because of overall poor specimen condition. Sample collection beginning at ...” he leaned back and squinted at a clock on the wall, “1100 hours.” 

He retrieved tools from the nearby metal table, then hesitated, leaning in near Nightwing’s ear, “You’ll understand, anesthesia complicates our results. This will be painful.”

Squeezing his eyes tight, Nightwing bit down on the gauze in his mouth, he tried to focus on anything other than the scalpel digging deep into his shoulder. 

Against the gag, he screamed. 

And Joseph smiled.


	10. One of Twenty-Seven

“Procedure concludes at 13:30.” Sivana snapped off the recording device and sat it down, sighing in satisfaction. 

_Two and a half hours? It felt like days._

In each of Nightwing’s arms and legs, multiple deep holes had been opened, muscle pieces torn out, and a burning, acidic fluid pushed in before it was stitched closed. He felt so frail, naked and trembling on the cold table. He caught sight of Joseph’s face in the corner of his vision; smiling, satiated, like a deep urge had been fulfilled, for the moment. 

“Dress it, take it to the dormitory. It needs rest for the nanites in the serum to do their work.” Sivana gave his orders before he clicked his tongue and patted Nightwing on the head, “I will see it again, soon.”

_It? I hadn’t noticed that before._

The dehumanization was as intentional as it was complete. 

“Sit up, hero,” Joseph pulled and released the belted restraints, then grabbed for medical scissors, carelessly cutting the the tape from Nightwing’s cheeks. He tossed green scrub bottoms at him. “Can you at least dress yourself?”

Nightwing didn’t acknowledge him, but carefully slipped into the pants, wincing as he moved brutalized muscles. 

“Let’s move.” Joseph was terse, and snatched Nightwing under his arm, digging thick fingers into new wounds as he pulled him off of the table. Nightwing couldn’t keep his feet under him, the sudden pain making the room spin, and he collapsed immediately. 

“Really, hero? All that big talk before and now you’re as weak as a kitten? Who’s trouble, now, huh?” 

He was hauled to his feet again, this time with the help of Sivana’s assistants, and dragged out of the procedure suite, down a long hallway, and into a large room lined with bunks. 

By the time they threw him down on an unoccupied cot and cuffed his hands to the bed frame, he was shivering uncontrollably. 

Joseph snorted in disgust, addressing one of the assistants, “Doc won’t be happy about that, will he, Leo? A fever already?”

Leo shrugged, “I’ll let him know. Could be a good thing. Immune system kicking in and working on regen with the nanites. It’s too soon for it to be an infection related to the procedure. We’ll know more in an hour at the first recheck.” 

Nightwing was confused when someone tucked him in with a blanket, almost gently. Joseph? 

“Don’t die of something stupid now, hero. Not when there’s so much more _fun_ we can have.” 

His last sensation as the darkness of an exhausted sleep swept over him was a small, tight kiss on his temple. 

———

He awoke, startled, to the faces of two older boys hanging over the edge of the top bunk, staring at him. 

“It’s really him. It’s Batman!”

“No, stupid. Batman has a whole headpiece thing. This is just a mask.”

“Fine, not Batman. But maybe someone who came to get us out of here?”

“Shhh! You know better than to talk about shit like that. We’ll all get rations cut! Besides, he doesn’t exactly look up to rescuing anyone, does he?” 

That boy was familiar. Unkempt dark hair fell over brown eyes, pale cheeks smattered with freckles. 

Patrick Clebb. One of the original 27 missing boys from his last case. 

Nightwing tried to sit up, wincing and groaning, then laying back down. His head was pounding, and his arms trembled with the effort. 

_Nope. That’s not going to work. _

He focused, filling his lungs with air, only to find a sliver of his voice, “Patrick?”

“Do I know you?” He hopped off the bunk and stood with his hands on his hips, eyes full of skepticism. 

“No,” Nightwing leaned up on one elbow, meeting the boy’s eyes, “But I was looking for you. A lot of people were. I was told you were dead.”

“I thought I was gonna be. Stabbed the freaking perv that ‘bought’ me. Got sent here. I’m one of the lucky ones, though. Blood’s O negative. So as long as I don’t start shit and I let them take some red cells when they want ‘em, Doc leaves me alone. There are a couple of more like me - lifers. Everybody else is either used for experiments or harvested for their organs. Though I’ve never seen anyone come back from an experiment and live more than a few minutes, before.” Patrick looked at Nightwing thoughtfully, then sat on the edge of the cot. 

“I can get you all out of here.” Nightwing whispered. 

“No offense, pal, but you don’t look like you can even sit upright. And this is just the first round. Doc’s gonna keep experimenting till you’re wheeled down to the incinerator, man. Just how it goes, here.”

Nightwing sucked in a full breath, trying to convince himself as much as Patrick, “I am going to get you out of here. This has to stop. Now.”

A commotion at the door caught their attention. “Shut up, man. They’re coming for you.” 

The men and boys in the dorm stood at attention beside their bunks as Dr. Sivana and Joseph walked in. Sivana chuckled and smiled as he sauntered past, like a proud uncle. The thought made Nightwing feel sick. 

_Then again, it could be the giant holes in my arms and legs and god-knows-what chemicals in full of, too._

“A full hour already!” Sivana was beyond pleased, “And here it is, awake and oriented, too! Splendid! I had to see it for myself. Joseph, bring it back to the procedure room. It’s time for measurements!” He left the dorm as quickly as he had come in, happily chattering to himself and laughing. 

“Brought a wheelchair this time, hero. Docs pulling out all the stops for you, since you didn’t die. Congratulations.” Joseph pulled the chair into view and smirked. He reveled in anything that made Nightwing appear weak. 

He honestly felt like walking was an option, finally. The sleep actually did some good, and the fever was gone. 

_ Then again, maybe its time to finally play the game. _

——-  
“We got lucky, Batman.” Oracle’s voice over the speaker echoed in the silence of the cave.

“Report.” Batman was gruff. Perhaps a little more than usual. Days with no lead meant days with no sleep. 

“Gino’s Chicken is a limited chain restaurant based in Maryland with only two locations. One of those locations is only 15 minutes from an Intergang laundering front, Villa of St. Juliana College. It was originally owned by the Catholic Church, but was bought for an undisclosed sum about 5 years ago. Last year, VJC annexed Rosewood, a derelict asylum that predates even Arkham. I called in some favors and got current satellite images of the compound. Three livestock trucks, just like the one at the north warehouse, are parked outside. If Nightwing isn’t...” she paused, catching her breath, keeping it together, “If he’s alive, he’ll be there.”


	11. Flash Point

Nightwing lowered himself into the wheelchair, avoiding Joseph’s menacing smile. His captor was enjoying this a little too much, but he took his time. 

_Make it look good, Grayson. They think you’re too weak to fight back. Let them._

The journey back to the procedure room seemed considerably shorter this time, even with Joseph lazily pushing the chair down the hall. Nightwing maintained a glazed, empty expression, and slumped to the side slightly. 

_Don’t oversell it. Might not get another chance at this._

The door to the procedure room was too narrow to push the chair through, so Joseph hoisted Nightwing up, arm slung over his shoulder. His touch was almost unbearable, nauseating. The heat of his body pressed into Nightwing’s chest and an urge to push him away and run blotted out nearly any other rational thought. 

_ Your mind is your greatest weapon..._

_Yeah, yeah. I remember._

Carefully, Joseph sat him on the edge of the metal table. It seemed Sivana had warned him not to harm his prized guinea pig; another point to Nightwing’s advantage. Sivana and Leo were already there, organizing more sterile tools. Joseph shut and locked the door and Sivana approached, beaming. 

“What an opportunity!” He began, groping and prodding like Nightwing was a bitch at a dog show, “Lymph nodes aren’t enlarged, temperature is 36.6 degrees C, limited redness and streaking at the incision sites! Oho! Incredible! Usually my subjects succumb to pulmonary embolism by now! Silly nanites get lost, go straight for the lungs!” 

Sivana reached for scissors, preparing to open the incisions again, and Nightwing knew this moment of distraction was his best shot. 

_That creepy fucker isn’t going to touch me again_

He swung his elbow hard, connecting it with the back of Sivana’s bald head, and the squat doctor fell to the tile, taking a cart of supplies with him. Joseph has his gun out in an instant. 

“Don’t shoot!” Leo shouted, “you’ll hit the oxygen tanks, moron!” 

Another moment of distraction, another opportunity. Nightwing snatched a scalpel from the floor, stumbling only a little, and charged forward, jamming it into Joseph’s wrist, forcing the gun to fall from his grip. Two swift blows to the head, and Joseph collapsed, sprawled in front of the door. 

Nightwing grabbed Joseph’s shock baton and turned to Leo, who cowered in the corner. 

“Oh God! Please, please. Don’t hurt me.” He was sobbing, curled in a tight ball on the floor. 

Growling in frustration, Nightwing pulled a pair of handcuffs from Joseph’s belt and threw them to Leo. 

“Cuff yourself to the table. Now!” 

Shaking and nodding, snot dripping down his chin, Leo did as he was told.

The rush of adrenaline, of _power_, felt good, but Nightwing could already feel the distant screaming of his injuries. 

_I won’t last long. Get to the dorms, get them out. Now._

He rounded to the door, taking more than a little satisfaction in kicking Joseph’s limp legs out of the way. 

In the lobby, several more guards had rushed in, alerted by the commotion. 

Keeping low to avoid gunfire and conserve energy, Nightwing rushed forward, grabbing the first at the waist and pulling him to the tile. A strike under his quarry’s chin and he was subdued. 

_One down_

He was too slow to avoid the short blast from another guards shock baton. He wrenched it from the man’s hand, howling in pain and fury, and twisted it, jamming the electrodes into his attackers side, holding it until he collapsed. 

Terrified, the third guard unholstered his gun, holding it aloft in trembling hands. Nightwing lobbed the spare baton at him, landing true and clipping the side of his head. He fell to the floor like the rest. 

Nightwing sprinted back down the hall to the men’s dorm. “Patrick!” He called. He would need help organizing, and Clebb seemed as good a candidate as any. 

“What are you doing, man? You’ll get us all in trouble!”

Nightwing steadied himself on Patrick’s shoulders. “I’ve cleared a path to the door, get everyone out, get as far away as possible. I’ll get the rest... where do they keep the children?” 

Patrick winced and shook his head, “They _don’t_. Everyone under 16 goes right to Doc for selection. The healthy ones are ‘harvested’ for tissues and organs. The sick ones are just sent to the incinerator. I’m sorry, man.”

Nightwing rocked back slightly, trying to take full breaths but finding it difficult. As much as he hated it, it couldn’t matter anymore. They were running out of time. 

_You know more guards are coming. Facility this big has to have at least 30. Keep it together, you’re not done yet._

“Get them out of here. I’ll get the others.”

Patrick nodded, “I got this, man. You go do your hero stuff.” Immediately the boy started barking orders to the men around him, gathering them up and heading for the door. 

Nightwing took off sprinting, afraid to waste any more time. He was nearly to the women’s hallway when he heard a familiar laugh behind him, “Where you going, hero?” 

He turned to face Joseph and a gang of guards, weapons trained on his chest. 

“Should’ve finished the job before you left me, back there. Don’t tell me you’re leaving?” He stalked closed to Nightwing, “I wasn’t done with you, yet.” 

Nightwing felt it before he saw it, the all consuming pain of a shock baton digging into one of the openings in his arm. He fell to his knees, gasping. 

_ Why is it so hard to just **breathe**?_

Joseph hauled him up and slammed Nightwing’s chest against the cement block wall of the hallway, pinning the hero in place with his body, digging the barrel of his gun into his side, grinding his hips against Nightwing’s leg. 

Joseph leaned in, whispering in a menacing hush, “You’ll learn who you belong to, hero. My friends and I will make sure of that.” 

_Fight back. **Fight back!** Why can’t I fight back?_

Nightwing couldn’t catch his breath, his chest _hurt_. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop Joseph as he tugged down on Nightwing’s battered scrub pants and unfastened his own belt. 

_Don’t just let this happen, Grayson._

But his arms wouldn’t push against the wall. His legs wouldn’t kick back to free him. And there was nothing to stop the familiar, nauseating pain of Joseph pushing inside him, digging into his arms as he thrusted. 

Agony. Agony and humiliation. Nothing else felt real. 

Finally, spent, Joseph stepped back and let Nightwing crumble to the floor. “Plenty for everyone!” He laughed, motioning to the cadre of guards in the hall. 

“Love to, Boss, but we’ve got a problem. Sentries outside say they saw Batman. Came to get his brat, I guess?”

“Fucking heroes. Fine. Go deal with it.” Joseph ground his heel into the bloodied patch on Nightwing’s thigh, “But hurry. Don’t want you to miss the fun.” 

Alone in the hallway, with Nightwing’s breathless sobs echoing against the walls, Joseph bent down and whispered, “Once he sees what a worthless whore you are, he won’t want you back, anyway.”

_”You’re not a whore, are you?” Thornton asked before beginning his brutalizations. _

_Am I? _

_Does it matter?_

_“Who cares about some misplaced prostitutes?” _

_I care._

Lips brushing Nightwing’s ear, Joseph continued, “I promised you it could get better than this. Stop fighting it. Tell me you’re my slave. Say you want it. Call me your master. And I won’t hurt you any more.” He dug his thumb into a scarlet, leaking wound on Nightwing’s arm to drive the point home. “Beg me to stop.”

Nightwing felt his heart pounding in his jaw. Suddenly his surroundings were sharp, clear. Snarling, he grabbed onto Joseph’s throat and squeezed, forcing him onto his back on the tile. He straddled his hips, clenching his other hand down onto the man’s neck, leaning all his weight into the grip. Joseph’s clawed at his shoulders, eyes bulging. 

But it wasn’t enough. The rage bubbled over, and Nightwing pulled back his fist, landing blow after blow, smiling as he felt bone and teeth shatter under his knuckles. 

“No! No!” Joseph rasped. 

Grinning now, Nightwing laughed, “That’s right. Beg. Beg me to stop.” 

Both hands found his throat again, and Nightwing bared his teeth as he watched Joseph’s lips turn purple, his desperate attempts to fight back, waning. 

“Nightwing! Stop!” A familiar, stony voice bellowed behind him. Batman reached down, his gloved hands covering Nightwing’s bare ones, gently but firmly prying them free. 

“No.” Nightwing growled. “No. He doesn’t get to walk away from this.” He tightened his grip and his resolve. 

“That’s not your decision to make, Dick.” 

Nightwing shuddered. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he heard his name. Since he felt like a person, not a commodity. Abruptly, he let go, sliding off of Joseph’s sputtering, unconscious body. 

Batman wrapped his cape around his protégé’s naked, trembling shoulders. “The police are outside. They’re pulling people out and securing the scene. We need to get you out of here.” 

Wheezing, the pain in his chest growing tight, Nightwing nodded, then leaned against Batman, coughing up a mouthful of blood. 

“I’m so sorry, Bruce.”


	12. Nothing is Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one or two more chapters to go! Thank you all for your continued support!

“Pulmonary Embolism.” Leslie popped the x-ray onto the light on the wall. “Sort of, anyway. Wasn’t a clot - it was bright, like metal. Some kind of shrapnel or debris, maybe? Either way, it was in a small artery, so we were able to pull it out with a catheter procedure. Minimally invasive. Give him another hour or so in recovery, then we can get him home.” 

Batman nodded. The drive back to Gotham had been harrowing. He had been grateful for the emergency oxygen he kept in the Batmobile - Dick destabilized rapidly, coughing and gasping until blood ran down his chin, dripping onto his chest. They had pulled up to Dr. Thompkin’s clinic just as he lost consciousness. “Did you salvage the metal pieces?” 

Leslie dropped a specimen container onto the table in front of him. “Thought you’d never ask.” She cleared her throat, “Recovery is going to take weeks. _Weeks_ of dedicated, real, honest rest. I know how you boys get, but I’m serious. He risks losing a lung, at best, if he pushes it. I’m sending him home on some antibiotics too - some of the holes they punched in him were starting to get infected.” 

Batman raised the plastic container to the light, inspecting closely, and grunted in acknowledgment. 

“And that’s only the _physical_ recovery. Be patient with him. This...” She sighed heavily, “This is a life-altering trauma. It’s possible that _nothing_ will ever be ‘normal’ again. I can patch him up, I can even graft skin over those horrible numbers they burned into him, but healing like _this_ just takes time.” 

Batman eyed her critically. “When I found him he was naked and choking a man to death after being experimented on by a mad scientist, Leslie. I am aware of the ramifications.” 

“Attitudes like _that_ will only make things harder for him.” She tutted in disapproval, “Don’t assume you know, or can even begin to understand, what he’s gone through. And if it seems like he’s really struggling, _call me_.”

——- 

_...The stench of corpses filled his nostrils. In front of him, the dead girl, rotting and bloating on the cement floor. _

_“You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save them. The only thing you’re good for is for me to fuck. Useless fucking whore.” _

_Joseph was behind him, biting his neck, digging fingers into his skin hard enough to make him bleed. “I am your master. Now, beg.” _

_He couldn’t stop the pathetic, mewling noises that came out of his mouth, pleading as Joseph raped him..._

His eyes snapped open in the dark, his chest heaved, and he clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle involuntary sobs. That was the third nightmare just tonight. He sat up, wiping away tears with his palms, doing his best to bury the panic rising in his throat. 

_Maybe it’s time to pack it in. Try again tomorrow. I’ve gone longer than this on no sleep._

The truth was he’d never been more exhausted. He’d been at the manor for two days and hadn’t slept more than a few, broken hours. Wringing the sheets in his hands, he counted deep breaths. 

_One, two, three..._

_Three shots rang out, three bodies dropped to the ground. My fault. Should have been faster. _

_Four, five, six..._

_Six carts had rolled by the boiler room where I knelt, bound and useless, on the floor. Each one with a dead kid destined to be burned until only ash remained. My fault. Should have fought harder. _

_Seven, eight, nine, ten..._

_Ten scars, testament to the ten holes carved deep into my muscles. Stupid. Careless. Shouldn’t have let them..._

__

Shivering from cold and shuddering with self loathing, he briefly considered throwing a log onto the dying embers in the fireplace. 

_What’s the point? Not like I’m going back to bed tonight._

He stretched his toes in the soft rug and stood, bracing himself on his bedside table as he adjusted to the shooting, cramping agony in his legs. Distantly, he recognized he should probably tell Leslie he was still in this much pain. She would want to know. 

_Then again, maybe it’ll teach me not to be so reckless again._

Slowly, carefully, he took a step. Then another, finding his feet steady on the floor. He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, deciding on tea to settle his stomach. 

He was filling the kettle when he heard a polite ‘ahem’ from the behind him. Alfred stood in the doorway, smiling mildly, dressed in light blue lounge clothes and a dark blue robe. He looked polished, even in pajamas. “I would have been delighted to do that for you.”

Dick tried to return the gesture, but his smile read closer to a grimace, “Didn’t want to wake you. Anyway, a little bit of ‘normalcy’ is literally what the doctor ordered.” 

Insisting, Alfred gently pulled the kettle from Dick’s hands and carried it to the stove, lighting a burner and setting it down. “I believe Dr. Thompkins ordered, _rest_, not galley duties.” 

Dick lowered his head, chuckling, “Fair enough. But once I get my tea, you should go back to sleep. No sense in keeping the house up at all hours.” 

Smile fading, Alfred replied, “You, sir, are the very _heart_ of this home. If you are awake, so too shall I be.” 

Dick faced the sink, digging his fingers into the porcelain and squeezing his eyes shut. He took a deep, shuddering breath, “Thanks, Alfred. That means a lot.” The kettle whistled, startling him from his thoughts and Alfred pulled it from the burner hastily. Dick inhaled sharply and turned, failing entirely to hide the frightened tears sliding down his cheeks. 

Abruptly, Alfred went to the pantry, and Dick was sure he could hear him sniffling over the sound of rummaging. He returned with a small tin in his hands. “Valerian and Chamomile. One well sugared beaker and you’ll be more than prepared to return to bed.” 

Dick looked away, biting his lips against the sobs threatening to escape. He grappled for control against the torrent of emotions burring through, “I’m sorry...I’m just tired I guess.”

Tentatively, Alfred placed a hand gently on Dick’s shoulder. “Of course you are, dear boy. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.” 

Sucking a trembling breath through his teeth and pulling away, he replied, “It’s ok. I’ll be alright. I’ll take that tea to go, if that’s ok?” 

Alfred nodded soberly and placed the mug on the marble counter, “Of course, sir. May you rest well.” 

——-

Dick spent the rest of the night alone in his room, staring blankly at his bed from a chair near the window, holding the mug of tea in his hands until it was ice cold, never raising it to his lips. Barbara was planning to visit today, and if he were honest, he was dreading it. She would be angry, worried, overwhelmed; he wasn’t sure he could manage any of that and keep his own emotions under wraps. 

_Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired._

He practiced the excuses like a mantra until the sun shimmered through the leaded glass and onto the hardwood floor. 

_”If we erase even their  
memory, it will be like they never existed.”_

_Easier said than done, Bapo. _

——-

Barbara arrived early, and, as expected, the visit rapidly devolved into an argument. 

“_Talk_ to me, Dick! I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, what happened...”

He clenched his jaw before replying in a whisper, “Nothing is wrong. I am fine. I’m just tired.” The familiar lie felt wrong, aloud. He was clearly _not_ fine. 

_Everyone can see how weak you are. At least she’s not coddling you._

She sighed, exasperated. “God! You can drop the tough act, you know. You don’t _always_ have to be a hero!” 

_”You’ll learn who you belong to, hero.”_

There was nothing he could do to stop the swells of grief and panic. That one word, and he could barely stand, clenching his eyes shut and gasping for air and he tried to steady himself against a nearby table. 

_No. No, no... not here, not now..._

But the horrifying images and memories pushed through anyway.

_Thornton used me, Joseph destroyed me. Worthless, useless. I let it happen. I let it all happen. _

_How many are dead because of me? Maybe I deserved what I got._

Somewhere, someones hands were on him. Holding his shoulders. Moving him. Blindly, he lashed out, screaming, “Don’t _touch_ me!”

_Barbara. It’s Barbara. She’s touching you, she’s worried. She’s trying to help._

Slowly, reality ebbed back into focus. Shuddering, angry and embarrassed,he whispered, “I’m so sorry Babs, I’m so, so sorry. Please... please don’t touch me. I’m... I’m not fine.”

He winced when he recognized the expression on Barbara’s face as she stared at him, mouth agape. 

Pity.


	13. Splinter

Tabs with medical records, recent arrests, psychological profiles, even utility bills, overlapped on the screen of the Batcomputer. Batman sifted through them all. He had to know everything he could about the man that had brought his protégé to the brink: 

Joseph Alvah. 

He had been transferred to a naval medical unit near Quantico after the FBI took over the Rosewood case, releasing prisoners and arresting lieutenants, though Sivana had slipped the net. 

Alvah was currently recovering from surgery - multiple fractures to the jaw and face were leaking cerebrospinal fluid and required immediate repair. He would live, but it was close. 

Most importantly, he was conscious, alert, and oriented. That meant Batman could pay him a visit and have it be useful. 

As he pulled up information on Alvah’s hospital location, Alfred’s telltale steps, complete with a slightly jangling teapot, drew close. “Another victim of this latest trafficking scheme, sir?” He asked, examining the surgical notes. 

“No.” Batman sighed heavily, “Nightwing did this.” 

“Good lord! These injuries are savage, are you sure...”

“I _saw_ him do it, Alfred. Now I need to know why. Psych eval describes Alvah as a sadist. A sociopath that derives pleasure from inflicting pain. I’m going to talk to him. He _will_ tell me what he did to my son.”

——-

The silence between them was suffocating. Dick kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew if he glanced up he would see that _look_; Barbara’s brows knitted together in concern, green eyes glassy with restrained tears, lip caught and worried between her teeth. 

He just wanted her to go. He really _was_ tired. Exhausted. 

“Babs, I...” he shook his head. How could he make her understand? “I _do_ want to talk to you, I just _can’t_ right now. I need time. I’m sorry...”

“No. No you don’t _get_ time.” After what had just happened, after her sympathetic cooing while he found reality under his feet again just minutes ago, he was startled by her outrage, “I told you to stay put and you didn’t. You _let_ them take you. Again. And I need to know why. Why do you keep doing this to me, to us? Are you really so selfish that you can’t see beyond what you _want_ to do; what _you_ think is right?! This was your fault, Dick!” 

_...Should have been faster, should have fought harder, I let it all happen..._

_My fault. My fault. How many are dead because of me? I let it happen..._

He swore he could feel his heart shatter. He imagined she could see right through him to the darkest, most frightened parts of himself. Was she disgusted by what she saw? Ashamed? 

“Miss Gordon, that is _quite_ enough!” 

Drawn by the commotion, Alfred stood in the doorway, as furious as his refinement allowed. 

“I believe it is time you went home. The doctor has ordered _rest_, and I intend to enforce those orders. Your heedless and insensitive caterwauling will wait. Now, shall I show you out?” 

Barbara’s cheeks flushed, a combination of repressed fury and embarrassment, “No. I think I can find the door.” 

Dick closed his eyes, listening as Barbara left, slamming the door shut on her way. Fatigue had become a new normal, and he felt like it was smothering him. He blinked again as he heard the sound of wood scraping the floor. Alfred had pulled a chair beside him, and sat, saying nothing. Just his metered, calm presence was soothing. 

Several minutes passed in silence, the two men staring ahead, listening to the drone of a grandfather clock striking the hour. Finally, Alfred spoke, “After the Vietnam War, when I was a young man serving with the SAS, we were tasked with covertly recovering Australian and American POWs. I came face to face with the true depths of human depravity, and the heights of human resilience. The abuses those men suffered are etched indelibly in my memory, sir. You are _never_ required to share the details of your ordeal, but if you _choose_ to, know there is nothing you could tell me that would shock me, nor make me love you any less.”

The levee tenuously holding Dick’s emotions at bay burst, and he collapsed to the side into Alfred’s waiting arms, keening deeply in fear and grief. 

“I have you.” Alfred whispered, wrapping the younger man into his embrace as tightly as he could and holding back his own tears, “You are safe.”

——-

Batman waited until the technician finished the vital checks and slipped out the door before he stepped from the shadows, hovering over the bruised man in the bed. 

“Joseph Alvah.”

The iconic snarl filled the small room, and Joseph opened his eyes slowly, not registering the menacing figure before him at first. His eyes widened in surprise, and he reached for the nurse call button, but Batman wrenched it from his grasp. 

“You are going to tell me everything I want to know, or I promise you, you will never leave this hospital.” 

Joseph chuckled, breathless, “Oh, what’s the matter. Big Bad Bat mad he had to share his pretty bird? I get it. The way he screams when he’s getting fucked... delicious, huh? I wouldn’t want to share, either.” 

Batman took a full step back, unsure if he could maintain control over the pounding rage that echoed in his chest. Now it made sense. Nightwing’s explosive violence; Dick, barely hanging on...

He wanted nothing more than to sink his fists into shattered bone and flesh, to release the pain and fear with brutality and blood. 

Instead, he disabled the morphine pump keeping Alvah comfortable after his surgeries. Without the medication flowing in a steady drip, Alvah already looked uncomfortable. “They only do checks every 6 hours, here,” he spoke in a menacing whisper, “Tell me _exactly_ what you did to him and I _might_ turn it back on. Or I might just watch as you writhe in agony for most of the night.” 

Joseph laughed, mirthless and rasping, “I’ll tell you. Just remember, you _wanted_ to know...”


	14. Unearthed Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this one! Again, I can’t thank everyone who commented or left kudos enough. This has been an exceptional journey, and I’m glad you all took it with me!

Batman was not surprised to see Alfred standing in the Batcave, expectant, with a tray of hot tea and sandwiches in his hands, when he returned. Over the years the Butler had developed a sixth sense about his comings and goings, and he had learned to simply be grateful for it. 

This time, however, was an exception. Joseph Alvah’s ‘confession’ had reached to the depths of evil. The sadism was shocking, even to Batman, who was intimately familiar with just how pitch black a human soul could be. He needed to be alone to claw his way through the rage and despair. 

That it was Nightwing at the center of the twisted fantasies and horrific descriptions was agony. Kind, affable, loveable Dick. Consumed by a real-life monster. It was little wonder he nearly killed Joseph in attempt to rip back whatever morsel of control he could. _Batman_ had even waited, well after Alvah could no longer speak from pain, to watch him moan and writhe before restarting his morphine. 

Darkness like that is contagious, he concluded. 

Though perhaps Alfred’s presence was the very grounding he needed to move away from his visceral response to the safety of a distant, intellectual one. Where the pain of knowing might at least be bearable. 

“How is he?” Bruce stripped off the cowl and set it on the chair, carefully taking a warm, bone china cup in his gloved hands. 

Setting the tray down, then rubbing the bridge of his nose, Alfred sighed, “Resting, for the moment. Miss Gordon’s visit was less a balm for wounds than I had hoped.”

“I get the sense you’re understating.” 

“Astute as ever, sir,” he continued. “She is rather fixated on the impact these past weeks have had on _her_, to Master Dick’s detriment. She informed him, in no uncertain terms, that the blame for his abduction and the events that followed landed squarely on his shoulders. I fear my manners escaped me, and I issued her from the house immediately, but the damage was done.” 

Bruce tightened his jaw, furious. Dealing with _her_ would have to wait. 

“And was your outing productive, sir? Was it as bad as we feared?” 

“Worse. The fact that he’s still holding it together at all is a miracle.” Bruce inhaled deeply. He didn’t want to say the next part aloud, didn’t want to cement the horror into reality, but if Dick stood any chance of recovery, the family had to know, “He was raped, Alfred. Repeatedly, brutally, as a means of control. Above and beyond the experiments and the torture. Alvah did his best to destroy him. And the sick bastard reveled in every minute of it.” 

Alfred said nothing at first, a deep, mournful expression etched into his face. When he spoke, it was a whisper, “I suspected as much, I’m afraid. The dear boy shattered in my arms, today, after his argument with Miss Gordon.”

“Stay close to him, Alfred. He needs family, now.” Bruce sat at the computer with finality. 

“And what do you intend to do, sir?” Alfred wouldn’t let Bruce withdrawal without a plan. 

_Leslie knew. She had tried to warn him. “Don’t assume you know, or can even begin to understand, what he’s gone through. And if it seems like he’s really struggling, **call me**.”_

“I _intend_ to get help.”

——-

He laid in his bed for a long time, eyes closed, biting the inside of his cheek in a failing effort to stay awake. He was terrified of the nightmares, but too ashamed to worry Alfred with his lack of rest. 

_I let this happen. It was my fault. Barbara saw the truth. I don’t deserve help, or compassion. I brought this on myself._

Eventually, there was nothing he could do to fight the exhaustion anymore, and an intruding sleep came. The terrors followed. 

_ Barbara was inches from his face, smirking, giggling, green eyes alight with amusement. “You **let** them take you. This is your fault.”_

_Fingers clawed into his skin, pulling him to an ice cold floor. He tried to reach out, pull away, but someone was on him, in him. Unforgettable agony. _

_A cold voice echoed around him. “Where you going, hero? I’m not done with you, yet. I’ll never be done with you.”_

_Barbara again, laughing now, “You’re pathetic. You let him do this. You didn’t even fight back. Why didn’t you fight back?”_

_He could feel shreds of his skin tearing away, exposing bone and sinew. “Please! Help me, please!” He begged. _

_She scoffed in disgust and turned away, “No. You get what you deserve.” _

__

His skin was soaked in freezing sweat when he awoke. He promptly buried his mouth in the crook of his elbow to stop the screams he knew would come. The nightmares were getting worse. More vivid, more frequent. So detailed he swore he could still smell Joseph on his skin. His stomach clenched and knotted, and he stumbled to the bathroom, vomiting bile and acid into the sink. He couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror. Instead he numbly turned the shower on in the dark and stepped in, sinking to the teak and marble under his feet, welcoming the pain of the scalding water as penance. 

His skin was scarlet before the water began to turn cold, and he pulled himself to his feet, shutting off the stream. Back in the bedroom, sunlight had begun to slip through the edges of the windows, around the heavy curtains, brightening the room enough so that his reflection was unavoidable. He tried to find even a sliver of himself in the face that stared back at him, but the man in the mirror was a stranger. He clenched his eyes shut and turned away. 

_Self-piteous. Indulgent. This is **your** fault. You didn’t even fight back until it was too late._

A sharp, small knock at the door pulled him back to the moment, the sudden noise rattling him. He tried to clear his throat, hide his weakness, before calling, “Who is it?” 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Alfred replied to the closed door, “Dr. Thompkin’s is in the sitting room. I believe she wishes to perform a follow-up examination, at your leisure.”

“Thanks. Be there soon.” He tried to sound casual. Unconcerned. The pretense did nothing to slow his heart’s incessant slamming in his throat. Leslie was the last person he wanted to see. She was keen, prying even. He would feel conspicuous under her gaze, when all he wanted was to just disappear. 

As quickly as he could manage, abused limbs still protesting at their use, he dressed and headed downstairs.

Dr. Thompkin’s was alone in the parlor, idly wiping a stethoscope with an alcohol swab. He cleared his throat behind her and she shifted in her chair, smiling warmly, “Dick, honey, come in and have a seat” 

_Just smile and fake it, Grayson. It’ll be over, soon. _

“How are you holding up?” She began as he lowered himself onto a leather sofa across from her. 

“Hanging in there,” he lied, sighing soberly for effect, “Still pretty sore, but otherwise, ok. It’s been a weird couple of weeks though, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

She raised her eyebrows critically, not buying it, but moving on for the moment, “Just need to give you a listen here. Cough gone? Any trouble breathing?” 

In between prompted, deep breaths, he answered, “Fine. Honestly. Good to go.” 

She held out her hands, gesturing to his arms, and the wounds, pink and half-healed. “Can I take a look?” 

He shrugged, scooting forward to give her better access as she gently assessed each incision, now dry and scarring over. “Legs about the same as these?”

“Yep!” He replied, a little more brightly than intended. 

_Dial it back, dummy. It’s a physical, not a carnival._

“Mm hm.” She leaned back slightly, tucking her tools into her bag, “And how are the nightmares? Flashbacks? You don’t look like you’re getting much sleep, if any.”

His face fell, his con failing. He felt exposed. Naked and vulnerable against such direct questions. 

“Like I said, it’s been a weird few weeks. I’ll be alright.” 

She shook her head and sighed. “Dick, listen. I hoped you knew better than to lie to me, but I also know these aren’t pleasant things to talk about. At least let me give you something to get you some rest. Everything is harder when you’re running on empty.” 

Feeling cornered, he nodded. “Ok. Alright. I could probably be sleeping better.” 

“Good. We also need to talk about something else sensitive.” She leaned forward again, lowering her voice slightly, “You’re in a good window for HIV testing now. We should do it today - if it’s positive, knowing sooner is better, I promise.”

That conversation seemed like it happened a lifetime ago. To someone else. Someone he didn’t know anymore. “Right. You’re right.” What else could he say? She clearly didn’t intend to take ‘no’ for an answer. 

Unceremoniously, she stuck a swab into the pocket of his cheek, moving it along his gums. He felt dizzy with the effort of suppressing memories of violation as she twisted the small stick in his mouth. Finally, she pulled back and dunked it into a small vial of clear liquid. 

“Takes twenty minutes.” She said abruptly, “We could use that time to talk, if you wanted?” 

He shrugged. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do. But he got the feeling it wasn’t going to be up to him. 

Leslie took his silence for assent. She spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully, “Bruce tells me he talked to one of the men they arrested at Rosewood.”

“Oh?” Dick felt he was choking on the air in his lungs, like he might be sick again. His already tenuous grip on nonchalance was slipping. Silently, he begged for it not to be _him_, already knowing full-well it was. Why else would Leslie bring it up? He shook his head violently before she could continue, “Actually, I think maybe _not_ talking would be better?”

Her knitted brow, tightened lips, tears clinging to her eyelashes... they only confirmed his suspicions. 

She knew. 

_Bruce_ knew. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed that he couldn’t stop the tight trembling radiating out from his core, the hot steam of tears rushing down his cheeks. 

_”Once he sees what a worthless whore you are, he won’t want you back”_

_“You **let** them take you. This is **your** fault!”_

_“Holy hell, kid. Best I’ve had in a while!”_

He was distantly aware he was standing now. Backing away. From who? He wasn’t sure. All that he knew was the deep, clawing urge in his chest that consumed any other thought. 

_Run_

He couldn’t breathe, the other person in the room _(why can’t I remember who?)_ was standing, too, pursuing. Reaching for him, and suddenly someone else was at the doorway, closing him in...

“Dick...”

The softness in the familiar deep voice had pulled him from the depths of nightmares before. But now it felt leagues away, like he was underwater but couldn’t break the surface. 

“Dick, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

He flinched as warm, strong arms gently pulled him close, the familiar smell of salt and light citrus bringing him home. 

_Bruce._

_ Bruce is safe. _

_Bruce knows..._

_“...he won’t want you back...”_. 

“I am so sorry...” he began, and was cut off by a fierce, soothing hug. 

“No. This was _not_ your fault. You are _not_ to blame.” 

He buried his face in Bruce’s chest, suppressed anguish and heartache spilling over at last in deep, wracking sobs. 

Through the folds of Bruce’s arms, he could see Leslie smiling, tears clinging to the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. For the first time in months, he felt safe. _Home_. With _family_. 

Suddenly, something on the table in front of her caught her attention. Dick watched distantly as she inspected the small vial, blinking and double checking. 

And her smile evaporated.


	15. Disengaged

“As always, you moved mountains.” Batman pulled up a series of maps and charts on the computer in front of them. “The exposure and shut down of the Rosewood site so soon after the aborted international shipment has sent domestic slavers scrambling. With no cohesive infrastructure, conservative estimates show a 70% drop in trafficking related crimes. And with Intergang’s influence waning, you can safely be ‘Dick Grayson’ again. This is a hell of a win.” 

“Guess I can live with a C minus, just this once,” Dick chuckled. It had been two weeks of rest, of _home_, and adjustments to new normals, but he could feel glimmers of his old self peeking through, and it felt fantastic. Finding out it had all been _really_ worth it was icing on the cake. 

That didn’t mean the price wasn’t high. He was still plagued by nightmares, but they were more nebulously menacing, far less tangible. The loss of muscle had been considerable, too. Leslie assured him it was reversible, but being _weaker_ and less capable, however temporarily, had been a tough pill to swallow. 

Then, of course, there were the _literal_ pills. Medications to suppress flashbacks and help him sleep. Anti-retrovirals that would be a permanent fixture in his life. Each with their own host of unpleasant side effects. Dick had never been a particularly good patient, but now compliance meant the difference between life and death. The stark reality served as a reminder of how fervently he wanted to choose _life_. 

He felt a dull _buzz_ in his pocket, and pulled out his phone. 

_Barbara. Again. _

She had called nearly a dozen times since Alfred unceremoniously tossed her out, and he had ignored every one. He knew Oracle had gotten updates from Batman, and that had been enough for him, for a while. But now...

He answered the call. 

“Hello?”

“Dick! You picked up! It’s me. I just...well...”, she was hesitating, hurting. Her tentative greeting confirmed his suspicions that Bruce had filled her in. And possibly chewed her out. 

_A ‘dressing-down’ from Batman was always a hell of a course-corrector._

There was a long stretch of silence, “You still there?” He asked, knowing by her hitching breath on the line that she was. 

“I, uh... you have a drawer of things here. Did you want me to mail it to you, or maybe Alfred could come and get it...”

“No.” He sighed. He could do this. “I’d like to come pick it up, if that’s alright? I don’t want to leave things like this.”

Sniffling, she replied, “Yeah. Sure. See you soon?” 

——

It took some cajoling, but Alfred relented keys to a car so he could drive to the clocktower alone. A motorcycle had been a non-starter, and Dick knew better than to push him when he was in full ‘mother-hen’ mode. 

The sudden freedom was nearly dizzying, and the cold February air felt like fresh water on a hot day - the relief of sun on his skin spread to his bones, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

His good mood faded as he pressed the intercom button to Barbara’s building, and she buzzed him up without a word. At the top of the elevator, the door to her apartment was already ajar, and he pushed it open like he’d done a thousand times before. 

But he could feel it, deep and final. This time was different. 

Barbara was waiting for him with a box in her lap. “Hey, I...I packed everything up for you. I wasn’t prying, I promise, but I found this...” 

She held up a small, elaborate wooden box and snapped it open. Nestled inside, an intricate emerald and diamond ring. 

He winced, then smiled wanly at the memory. It seemed too distant to be real. 

Barbara asked in a whisper, “You were going to propose to me?” 

He inhaled sharply and nodded, “I was. After the undercover debacle. I wanted to come home to _you_, and then never leave.” 

She covered her mouth, looking away, trying and failing to blink away tears. 

“Oh God, Dick. I am so sorry. About everything. I messed it all up. I love you...”

He shook his head, “And I _loved _you. But you hurt me, Babs. I _needed_ you. We both knew something like this could happen. That’s the life, right? I thought we could get through anything _together_. I want more than anything  
to just move past this, for everything to go back to the way it was, but I can’t. And I’m sorry for that.” He took the ring box from her and set it on the table nearby, then lifted the larger box from her lap. “Thank you, for everything.”

“But the ring...” she was reeling and he could see it; it broke his heart. 

“Keep it. I bought it for you. That doesn’t change. Wouldn’t fit me anyway.” He chuckled in spite of himself, and she followed suit, the awkwardness and pain dissolving into laughter and tears. 

At last he headed for the door, “Take care of yourself, Babs.”

She wiped her tears on the back of her hand and nodded, “You too, short pants.”

——-

He sat in the idling car outside the manor, listening to the radio and relishing the time alone. He couldn’t blame them, but Bruce and Alfred has made their presence a constant as he recuperated, and it was both welcome and stifling. 

Absently, he pulled through the box of his things from Barbara’s; photos and socks, toothpaste and a mismatched pair of cuff links. An old letter she’d tucked in his glove once, before patrol,

_“My dearest darling, I hope you don’t mind this note. I just wanted you to know I love the new closeness we have. It’s making it possible for me to see that we have a future. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to tomorrow. All my love, B”*_

He traced her looped letters with his fingertips. 

_No future together now. At least, not like she envisioned then. _

The melancholy song over the speakers stopped abruptly, and he shifted his attention to the urgent voice of the newscaster, “Breaking Bulletin: A multistate manhunt is underway for alleged human trafficker Joseph Alvah. He escaped from FBI observation in a hospital in Virginia, earlier today. The FBI warns that he is potentially armed and extremely dangerous. Residents in the immediate Quantico, VA area are advised to shelter inside while authorities work to bring him back into custody.” 

He snapped the radio off; tried to take steadying breaths, but he could almost feel the hot breath on the back of his neck - 

_”Where you going hero? I’m not done with you, yet.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See Nightwing #57

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are not only appreciated, but you can even shape the outline - I’m always open to love or hate!


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